The Founders Four
by Lady Cinnibar
Summary: One-shots in a framework. If the Sorting Hat has the minds of Founders, what stories can it tell? Ravenclaw Up!
1. Building

"Miss Granger, may I help you?" Professor Dumbledore looked down at her, eyes twinkling.

She shifted, and bit her lips. She was a seventh-year Gryffindor, she wasn't afraid! "Professor Dumbledore, sir. I was assigned a project, for History of Magic, to research the Founders."

"Ah, yes, I am aware of the project." Those blue eyes, which saw everything that transpired within the school, were amused.

"Harry mentioned that he'd talked to the Sorting Hat, after his Sorting. I was wondering if maybe I could ask the hat for stories of the Founders. It is part of them, after all." She lifted her head, hope, and defiance, written on her features.

_Amazing that such a bright young woman, who has suffered so much for the sake of her friends, still has the hope and bright spirit of a child untouched by these sorrows._ He mused, looking down on her. "Why, Miss Granger, that is a very novel idea. But, I am afraid that I cannot welcome you to try just yet. I will, however, tell you when you may."

She looked delighted. She nodded, and left, and he went back to his guests, shooting one glance at the Sorting Hat, shabby, and beaten, as always.

That Saturday, when most Gryffindor students were cozy in their common room, Hermione showed up once more, and sat in a chair, notebook in hand, smiling slightly as he laid the Hat on her lap.

"I will be in the other room, if you need me." He said, softly. "There are many stories the Sorting Hat won't tell. But perhaps, perhaps a clever young lady can convince the Hat to speak, where an old and tired man does not really care to try."

She was alone with the Hat, raising it onto her head.

_Well, what have we here? I Sorted you into Gryffindor. What do you need of me?_

She closed her eyes, and spoke softly into the air. "Sorting Hat, I want to know about the Founders, the Four, and those they love, and those that helped them. I want to know about the Founding."

_Well you do, do you?_ The Hat murmured.

**********

"And one and two and…." Helga led the group in coordinating their magic.

The very last tower turret, the very last piece of the school, landed gently where it was supposed to be, as the Keystone reached out, and spun it into the buildings.

The four wizards looked at each other, and smiled brightly. Grown men and women, they abandoned decorum and proper behavior. Despite the fear of Muggles, they showered sparks into the sky, they laughed, danced, cheered, and sang.

"We're finished!"

"It's built! We can begin!"

"Oh, I never thought we'd actually get to try!"

"This calls for a celebration." Salazar said, chuckling, as Godric swept the little blond witch up into a hug, spinning her about. Helga squeezed him back with just as much enthusiasm.

Rowena spoke, her normally severe and reserved presence lightened by the sheer delight sparkling in her eyes. "What shall we call the school?"

Everyone froze, and their eyes went dark, as they thought. Godric sighed mournfully, "I know what name I'd like. But…."

"I know, Godric." Rowena laid one hand on his broad shoulder.

Salazar spoke. "We should call it Hogwarts." He looked exceedingly clever, and he shot a glance at Godric, as if expecting some sort of confrontation.

His opponent blinked, and then burst into a massive smile. "I never thought you'd ever say that, Salazar."

"Yeah, well, occasionally even I can admit a use for the damned thing." Salazar snorted.

Even Rowena, with her long dark hair, and sparkling blue eyes, flinched. Godric sighed mournfully, but some anger sparked to life in his eyes. Helga gave Salazar a stern look.

But Rowena was the first to speak, in the increasing tension. "We have finished building the school, and now all we have left to do is raise the wards, so next year we can have students. Seeing as how such a major hurdle has passed, I recommend going down to the inn beyond the lake. We can celebrate there, and we are not to bring up The Issue."

Godric stared at the school, as if trying to pierce it with his eyes.

"And leave your hat here!" Helga said, spluttering. "That mouse-eaten thing would scare off a dragon!"

"Aw, but Helga, it's my favorite hat!" Godric said, eyes turning pleading.

Rowena and Salazar both smiled at the successful distraction of the mourning wizard.

"I don't know how you've ever managed to attract girls with that horrible smelly thing, but it clearly needs to go into the depths of one of Salazar's fens! Where its smell belongs!"

"Hey! Watch whose home you're insulting, Hufflepuff!" Salazar protested. "I for one, have no objections to Godric's hat. As long as he casts a Smell Nullifying Charm. It hasn't been washed in years!"

Godric tensed. "No, it hasn't. I'll even wash it, and cast a Patching Charm on it, if you'd like, Salazar." He gave a half bow, courteous and well mannered.

"That sounds fair, and equitable." Rowena said, sighing. "Go, Godric. I'll fetch the soap from the tents if you'll head to the lake right now."

"Do you want him to kill that poor kraken?" Salazar quipped. He rubbed his shoulder, and shot the bolder wizard a hard glance. "Watch that strength, giant's child!"

"Hey!" Godric straightened, and shot him a glare. "I am not!"

Helga snickered. "No you're not. Salazar, don't irritate him."

Rowena's wand flicked to the battered, tattered and much abused hat perched on the red-gold mane of hair. Magic swirled around it, and Godric yelped, ducking away from the magic, the hat fluttering in air, before it landed on him.

"Flowers! You made it smell like flowers!"

"I think it smells nice." Helga said sweetly.

"Yeah, but flowers?" Godric sniffed. "It doesn't smell right! It smells like a woman's hat!"

"Well it doesn't look that way." Salazar chuckled.

Godric held it before him, aiming his wand at it, muttering under his breath. The hat 's frayed appearance vanished, large patches appearing on the holes, and thin spots. The stitching wasn't perfect, but it'd hold. Then he sniffed, and wrinkled his nose. "I'll smell like some sort of maiden, or a matron trying to hide her age."

Salazar grimaced. "Most women I know don't smell that strongly of flowers either!" He pinched his nose, and shot Rowena a hard look. "No more scenting spells with the washing spells. That's way too powerful."

Rowena shrugged. "He can learn his own scenting smell."

Helga sighed, and rolled her eyes. "Godric, close your eyes. Imagine a scent you love, something you can take a deep breath of, and smile."

A smile graced the wizard's face, and Rowena frowned. "It's gonna smell like a dead fish."

Salazar snickered, and shook his head, as the chubby little witch instructed their much taller friend in the spell most witches loved, and most wizards didn't come within a mile of.

Helga's expression was one of pleased delight. "It smells of heather!"

"I could have told it would." Salazar quirked a smile. "Godric loves the heather. He's from the moor after all."

"But do you like the scent of the fens?" Helga gave the slender, smaller wizard a hard look.

"Well, some of the things, yes. Others, no. But I really don't like the reputations everyone keeps putting on them. I mean, each place has its beauties, just like each creature has its own virtue."

Godric grinned, and put the hat back on his head. Sadly, nothing would keep the tip from falling over. It still looked battered and beaten, but at least it looked like someone wasn't rolling in dirt on a regular basis.

***** Somewhere, in another time, and another place, someone flinched a little. And the hat she was wearing chuckled. _I have been washed lately, you know. The Deputy Headmistress makes certain I am clean before each Sorting_ *****

Arms linked, the four friends strolled down the hill, leaving the massive structure, many bits of it only held up by magic, waiting behind them.

**********

Hermione blinked, and looked up at the dark brim above her head, before she began to write quickly, scribbling notes on the paper. Her writing, small but precise, looked a little like Godric's.

_Now where did that thought come from?_ She wondered, and shivered.

_From me, of course. I do have a little bit of each member of the Four in me._ The Hat commented easily.

"Why did his handwriting look so neat? Literacy wasn't prized in those days."

_No, it wasn't. Helga had to learn to write with assistance from Rowena, and Salazar wasn't the best, but Godric, for a brief while, had been educated in a monastery. He hadn't quite sworn the oaths as a brother when he was booted out for being a wizard. He'd worked in the scribe's section. Helped keep the records._ The Sorting Hat chuckled.

Hermione gasped, and giggled, writing the information down madly.

"Can you show me some of that?"

_If you really want. It is where he got the idea for the school, after all_._ But, perhaps, you would rather not sit through boring lessons, and skip straight to when he left._

"I wouldn't mind learning everything I could."

_Godric himself did not think of them often, except as an example. They were a useful tool, and nothing more. He did not belong there, but he had found it a home for awhile._


	2. Founder One: Gryffindor

Disclaimer: I do not own Hermione, Gryffindor, Slytherin, or the Sorting Hat. I'm not genius enough to come up with those! Nor do I own the idea that the Sorting Hat knows more than it's letting on, that's from sugarquill.net. I can't find the exact author at this moment, but…. Go visit them after April's Fool's Day. Aside from that, the story is MINE! You can use it, just give me credit, okay? My brain gears keep needing replacing from the hard work I put them through, so I want credit. Brain gears are expensive!

"Run! Run quickly, Godric." The voice was old and male. "The squire sends his soldiers, to try you for witch-craft and devil-worship."

"But I've done nothing wrong." Godric said, his boy's voice still young and piping.

"The whole monastery saw you treat with that wrinkled creature, to make it go away. I know you've done nothing wrong, but they think so."

"I'll miss you, Brother Marcus." Tears glimmered in his eyes.

"I'll miss you too, Godric. Go with God. Now, hurry! Go!" There was a catch in the old man's voice. "I'll pray for you, Gryffindor."

Godric scrambled through the branches of the tree, and with a quick leap, landed on the wall. He sneaked a glance back, and in the darkness, he could just see the shadow of the Brother, slipping in through a side door.

He crouched against a wall, over-whelmed with memories of fond friendships, and at times, cheerful voices. Of having found a place where he was family. He was young, but already, things much like miracles happened around him. Only when he was very excited, like when they'd entertained the Squire for dinner, or very frightened, like when he was sent out to watch the sheep, and was lost, alone, and in the dark. The sheep had scattered, and he was cold, in the freezing rain. 

He smiled in memory of that. The sheep had all come to him, like he'd called them, and gathered close, in the deep dark. He'd been found the next morning, tucked between warm furry sheep bodies.

He'd only been nine, a gap-toothed child. Now he was eleven, Brother Marcus teaching him how to control his magic, and use it. He wiped away the tears, and sniffled slightly. The monastery was the only home he could truly recall. Now he was kicked out of that, with only the rumor of a family somewhere far away, and some food and a spare robe. All he owned in the world. No one to share it with, no one to talk to.

Brother Marcus, of course, had been wise, and had prepared him for this eventuality.

After morning service, as he helped Brother Marcus in the kitchens, the good brother had explained.

"You're a wizard, Godric. Just like your parents, and their parents. There aren't a lot of wizards in the world, and those who can't do magic hate them for it. I'm a wizard as well. I never was much of one, I've never been very strong, so I can hide my magic. You're young, and you're strong. You must be very careful to keep it hidden. If you can't, I'll sneak you out. Run, run to the marsh, there are wizards hiding in there."

"But I want to stay here!" Godric had blurted. "You're my family!"

"Indeed, we are. But if you have to leave, if you're being hunted for what you can do, our of human jealousy, you must run. God did not give you a powerful gift to die, son. God gave it to you to help others. So you must hide, or go far away, so you can help. So you can aid those who have not the advantages you do. Remember, always carry the true spirit of being a Christian within you."

Then, with a cryptic look, Marcus had spoken again. "You may have more family than you know, young Godric. Indeed, they may miss you very much, and wish for your safe return every day."

Godric sniffled back tears, and watched the scene playing out in front of the monastery. He should be running now. He should get a good head start on them. But he couldn't leave! This was his home! This was where he'd grown up! They'd taught him to read and write, in a scribe's neat hand. They'd taught him Latin, and even some Greek, for prayers. He knew as much as any of the older brothers, he knew he'd be a good member of the order!

The Squire gave angry shouts, moments later, as his bed turned up empty. Torches began to move, and spread out. They'd search outside the walls soon.

Godric dropped from the wall, and took a deep breath, settling the sack of food and goods that Brother Marcus had gathered for him over his shoulder. This was it. He had to leave home. If they found him, they'd kill him. This area wasn't safe for witches and wizards.

He kept to the edge of the wide and slow river, trying not to splash, and hoping they couldn't track him this way. Just a half day's travel down river, it turned into marshes. He could hide there, if nothing else.

The night was deep, and seemingly endless. He was lucky it was merely fall, and there was not the bitter cold of winter, which could kill him. As it was, the chill bite of the air was enough to make him shiver, as he walked carefully in the shallow water of the creek. Stones could turn beneath his feet, and he didn't want to fall, and make a noise. The bushes that grew tight about it, and reached over his head, protected him some from being seen, and thus caught.

He sniffed often, and the coarse sleeve of his itchy wool robe was damp, from wiping his eyes, and nose, often. He stayed out of sight, slipping out of the water long enough to detour around the one farmer's hut which was close to it's watery banks. It was all dark, but he would take no chance with getting caught, or seen. It was too risky, he'd been warned. At one point, the water lapped around his waist, as the land rose above his head, providing extra shelter from being seen.

While he had learned some small skills, he would hardly claim to be able to defend himself against grown men! Not yet. One day, however, he would defend not only himself, but everyone helpless against the angry mobs.

The sky was lightening, as he kept walking, and realized he was entering the soggy, salt-water marsh. Not far off, he could see the road, and he took a risk, stepping on the grass clumps to scramble up onto its rutted surface. It skirted the edge of the dangerous marsh, full of dark things, like demons.

His robes, good strong brown, were stained with mud, and grass, already. They dripped constantly, wet from his excursion. Good thing they were thick wool, else he might freeze despite the warm sun. He slid his sandals onto feet sticky with mud and things he'd rather not think of.

Then he began to walk. The rutted road was hard, and thus not as muddy as elsewhere, the dirt beaten into submission through long years. There were still puddles, but it wasn't as bad as walking through the marsh itself.

The marsh was large, and wide. People vanished in its watery depths, and lights could be seen moving within the shrubs that clung to land which often moved, quite frequently.

He was walking sedately when he heard the hoof beats, and turned.

The Squire!

_I don't want to die!_ He scrambled off the road, and ran for the marsh, hoping they hadn't seen him. He scrambled through the thickly growing vegetation, leaving a trail a child could follow, splashing through pools where things moved. Dodging under branches, trying to move quickly, but the beat of the horses had increased, and then stilled.

Too late. They'd seen him. Shouts followed him, and he heard splashing, until he heard a single commanding bellow.

The whistle of an arrow made him try to dodge, but a fiery pain landed in his shoulder, and he splashed into the water, as he felt numbness spread through him, and blackness carry him away, unaware of the water he had fallen into. Unaware of his sheer luck, in floating face-upwards, before he was washed up on a muddy shore.

When he woke, he was warm, and listening to the drip of rain outside. His shoulder ached, and he felt a much duller ache all over. With especially bad pains if he took a deep breath. But he was wrapped in cloth, and he felt the give of branches beneath him. A peasant's hut.

"You're just lucky they decided you were mostly dead already." A rough deep voice said, and he opened his eyes.

The man who stood before him was old and wizened.

"Where am I?"

"The moors South of the marsh you fell in. South of the beach you landed on before you got swept out to sea! You've been asleep for days. I found you right after they left you, luckily, or you might have died. The poisons in the mud you'd landed on had already begun to work their way in through the wound. Plus that arrow." The old man sighed, deeply. "I am Herrick. Brother Marcus sent me to find you. They won't enter the moor, it's part of another lord's territory, and they are afraid of border skirmishes. Aside from that, it's too damned difficult to get to!"

Godric blinked.

"Brother Marcus was my younger brother, Godric. He was near enough a Squib, and he took Holy Orders because he felt he could do the most good there." Herrick said quietly. "Once you're well, we'll move on. I've found Gryffindor Tower, and they had asked me to beg the monastery to part with you. But perhaps, now that the monastery has thrown you out, you will find your home with your kith and kin."

Godric was weak, but he was able to follow the man through the lonely moors. The call of a beast echoed through it, and everywhere there was evidence of movement.

They camped that night in a hollow, eating roast rabbit, and some of the goods Marcus had given him. The sack had been good stout waxed cloth, and had repelled the swampy water. The bread, good travel bread, soaked up the juices of the coney, and already Godric felt better.

All this land to explore, and more!

"The Lord of the local land will send a knight, perhaps, to squire you while you stay in Gryffindor Tower. It was unfortunate, indeed, that your father, youngest son, had chosen to leave when he did. His older brothers, were killed in a border dispute, and the monastery had been looking forwards to being deeded your grandfather's lands."

"I have a home?"

"Mmhm. And a grandmother, and a grandfather, and a maiden aunt. You'll be out of that sack cloth before you know it, dressed in the clothes that be-fit your station." Herrick smiled. "And I've been promised a space to help tutor you in the duties of a wizard lord."

The morning came swiftly, too slowly for an eager boy, ready to find his home, and leave behind him the last of his shame and loneliness. The mist that spread over the moors was home for a lonely soul, and while Godric was weakened by his wounds, he found himself finding a peace and stillness he'd never known. Something more true than the hushed quiet of the chapel, something that settled into his heart, as the tight fearful stillness of the brothers never had. Their fear was greater than their love, and everything about them showed it.

Right now, he didn't much care for fear, not if it led to such horrible acts as the hunting of a child. Especially since that child was himself.

_This is where I belong. This is my home. The wild lands, where life is free and wild, and not constrained by rules and strictures._

On the fourth day, they came into sight of Gryffindor Tower, a squat fortress structure, next to a manor home, all within a solid defensive curtain. Lights sparkled on a small tarn nearby, and he saw movement within.

That same light sparkled off armor, and off a road, which led to the coast.

Herrick led him from a small trail, under the great branches of a thick shrub, onto the road, paved here with broad stones. An old road, dating from the Romans.

Godric had come home.

********

Hermione sniffled back tears, and rubbed at her eyes, but quickly scribbled down the notes. 'Godric Gryffindor - trained as a scribe in a monastery until eleven, sent to live with grandparents, the lord of Gryffin Moors. Trained as a knight and wizard. First teacher Brother Marcus of the monastery, second teacher, Herrick of Clune, employee of Lord Gryffindor, and brother to Brother Marcus.'

"Amazing. What about the others?"

_Slytherin was a young cold man, and his teacher raised him in fens that were fairly close to one of the reaches of the moors. His family had been killed, stoned to death when his mother was caught talking to snakes. Salazar had been lucky in his escape, he'd disobeyed his father and went exploring while they were at the inn. Of course, having a new student, the wizard of the fens, Isil, had paid a visit to the Gryffindor clan, and told them._ The Sorting Hat sighed. _When Godric met the young wizard in training, a full six years his elder, he struck up a friendship. They were good friends, until they split._

Hermione scribbled it down, hardly believing what the hat told her. "You have to be kidding me? Slytherin? A half-blood?"

_No, not a half-blood at all. It is a long-winded explanation you've no need of, young Gryffindor. Suffice it to say, May Day celebrations and mead can lead to mistaken identities._

She snickered at that.

A/N:

Slef - Thank you. Sooner or later, I will force you to watch the movies, at the least, ne? It's delightful to know I'm liked enough that you read me despite using characters, etc, you're unfamiliar with… kinda like poor Shade, reading my Highlander stories…. *sigh* 

Sailor Jewel - Comment noted, appreciated, and followed. Note, the little asterisk border thing… I'm not sure how I'll do in text commentary, like that flinch Hermione did in chapter one, but I'll figure it out. As commanded, I hurried.

Raistlinof Metallica - Strange crossover there, modern rock and Dragonlance, but, hey, it works. Raistlin is a mean drinker of camel piss, so it works… *grins at own edit. God, I love Ecolea's stories…* Hmm, well, it depends. While it was the educated thing to do, the lesser nobility, and those who had little to no interaction with the Court may not necessarily bother with reading and writing. If you think about it, a barely landed knight would not need to worry about that. That's what monks are for. Aside from that, consider England. At all times, it was far away from the center of life and culture in Europe. Rome. There were more educated folks in and around Charlemagne, and other great powerful figures like that. Peasants, or even the barely there middle class, and serfs, didn't read or write. Nor did Vikings. 

Believe it or not, folks, I'm actually doing research for this. I'll even list a bibliography of sources at the end of the whole mess, eh? Trying to ensure I'm creating at least a vaguely similar to the 900s environment is a challenge. The Roman Empire has collapsed, moved to Byzantium, and I tended to specialize in Greco-Roman myth and history. Expanding my knowledge into the White Island is a stretch, since English Literature studies don't really come in until, say, at least a hundred or more years later. But, ah well, I can always rewrite if I get it wrong. Which would entail a trip to my college library. I love being an alum. I can still go in and look at the resource books!


	3. Founder Two: Hufflepuff

Disclaimer: Don't own it, it's not mine, though I wish it was. Dag nabbit, why can't my ideas be 1) my own, and 2) profitable.

Founders Four:

Helga Hufflepuff

Hermione settled down on the chair, smiling at the Headmaster. "Good morning, Headmaster."

"Miss Granger, I hope you don't mind my being present." He nodded at his desk, overflowing with paperwork.

"No problem, sir." She smiled, and regarded the worn Sorting Hat. "It certainly looks beat up."

"Part of that is the thousand years it has been around, Miss Granger. Students have attempted, through the long centuries, to hex, charm, or otherwise commit unwise magic upon the Sorting Hat."

"Students! Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff fairly hated the thing. Hufflepuff wanted it tossed in the rubbish bin, and Ravenclaw cast a spell to scent it with flowers once. Right after they'd finished building the school, but before the wards were cast." Hermione smiled at the memory.

Those twinkling blue eyes crinkled in a smile. "Professor Flitwick tried to take apart the magic holding it together, so he could understand it better, when he was a student."

He was smiling as she set the Hat upon her head.

_Hello, again, Miss Granger. Are you Headmistress yet?_

She spluttered in sheer outrage. "Honestly!"

The chuckle in the back of her mind was assuring, and she relaxed as it spoke once more. _Shall we venture into the past once more, young Gryffindor?_

************

"Helga, dear, have you seen my hat?"

"Honestly, Bleise, you'd lose your head if the Lord had not seen fit to attach it." She chuckled, and stepped up to him. "Here, and mind you come straight home after talking to that Gryffindor scamp. I'll not have you reeking of alcohol and scaring the poor child once more. It's bad enough that her Ladyship terrified the child, we don't need you scaring her half witless and speechless for a month."

"Now, Helga, dear, you bully me terribly." He snickered. "And don't be calling the Lord Gryffindor's heir a scamp, you'll be punished."

"As if any witch worth her salt can't make them forget such things." She flicked her fingers.

"As if any wizard worth his salt can't see to it a young witch suffers for her presumption. I may be a cleric, Helga, but even I can't protect you. Already you are under threat for being a Viking."

She touched his cheek gently. "My husband, is this young Gryffindor worthy of her ladyship? Can any man truly measure so strong as to be worthy of a daughter of the line of Taliesin?"

"My wife, if any these Britons of Wales may measure well, of the same stock as her Ladyship has sprung, the Celts of history." He smiled at her. "Now, my wife, I must go."

She sighed. "I needs must tend to her Ladyship and the child. Go, husband."

They had rented, of need, a house from a merchant.

The child whimpered as she stepped into the room where she was kept. White orbs flickered and flashed, and Helga smiled at the Lady, stroking the hair gently of this daughter of Muggles.

"Has there been change, my Lady?"

"She is still in horrible pain, Helga." The Lady smiled gently. "Is your husband away?"

"Aye, and I've warned him not to let the Briton get him drunk. The fool youth has no respect for a man of the cloth! None at all!"

Her Ladyship laughed. "Goodwife Hufflepuff, calm you down, and help me care for the child. The burns still trouble her."

"If it were not that my parents were Muggles…." Helga sighed, and gently untied the bandage about the girl's arm.

"Not all Muggle parents are as accepting of wizarding children as yours were, Helga."

"Hah, that's because my parents were heathen Vikings. Who chased me out of hearth and home when I fell in love with a weakling Christian." She snorted.

The child was horribly burned, and her eyes had gone milky white. She whimpered as the bandages were changed, and the poultice was replaced.

"Maybe my husband would know of a local potions brewer able to assist in the healing of this poor lass." The Lady spoke in a soft voice. "Helga, go ask."

"My Lady!"

"Go."

The plump wife of the priest trotted down the hall, and out into this strange village. It was not small, nor was it large. While the settlement was mostly wizarding, there were those Muggles who could accept magic here, or those Muggles that were spouse to a witch or wizard.

Helga found her husband in the small church, speaking with a man whose golden brown hair glowed in the sunlight.

"Wife, what has brought you?"

"Forgive me, husband, but Her Ladyship has sent me to beg of her future husband a boon of information."

Godric Gryffindor turned curious eyes on her, and she swallowed. "What do you need, Goodwife Hufflepuff?" His voice was courteous, and slightly surprised.

'Oh, and he's a handsome young lad, isn't he?' She mused. "If it please your Lordship, we've a child burned terribly, and it would be a boon if we were to know of an alchemist who might be able to administer Healing Draughts. We would be most grateful if you would honor to tell us."

The young Lord Gryffindor, heir to a baronetcy, stood. "Indeed, I do. It is a day's hard travel to Nanna Ogg's hut. If you'd like, I can order a cart for you to take the child. Aside from that, until I inherit my grand-father's position, I'm only a knight."

Helga stepped back. "I… thank you, Sir Gryffindor."

********

_That is how Hufflepuff and Gryffindor met._ The Sorting Hat said, sounding quite solemn and calm.

"But, how did they stay together? How'd he know to found Hogwarts with her? Why'd they pick the name of Hogwarts?"

_Ah, for the first, they stayed together because Lady Caerdwyn married Gryffindor, and Lady Caerdwyn kept in contact with her old Lady's maid. Even though Helga and her husband returned to the valleys of Ireland, where her husband had a parish. Although Helga could not read, there are charms which allow written words to speak, and Gryffindor was kind enough to teach his wife and the pastor's wife those spells._ The Sorting Hat chuckled. _As for knowing to found Hogwarts with her…._

********

The child was grown now, a slender woman hardly older than a last year student of Hogwarts. She was horribly scarred, but she wore the colors of Gryffindor House. She stared at the gathering, milky white orbs unseeing. "Godric Gryffindor.."

The Lord of Gryffindor Manor started. He turned away from the elderly priest discussing the wedding plans.

"Helga Hufflepuff."

The priest's wife started. "Oh my. Is she still saying Prophecy, Godric?"

"Indeed she is, Goodwife Hufflepuff." He smiled.

"Salazar Slytherin."

A tall thin man, perhaps a decade older than Gryffindor, started. He spoke, a faint accent haunting his voice. "Godric, your Muggle born toy is addressing me. I warned you about that."

"Salazar, stop insulting my student." Godric sighed. "Or my wife will hex you again. Do you really want to walk on your hands for a week again?"

"Rowena Ravenclaw." From the other side of the room, Godric's wife sighed, and took an infant from the arms of a tall woman, slender and beautiful, with a blue, white, gray, and silver plaid pattern band across her chest.

"Go on, Lady Rowena. She shan't finish the prophecy until all she's named have gathered near her." The lady smiled at her friend. "I can discuss my daughter's betrothal with the good priest myself."

She smiled down at the infant in her arms.

The four gathered close to the young girl. She spoke, a surprisingly deep voice for a mere child.

"Four Founders there are and there shall be.

One clever traveler, one wise beyond years,

One loyal worker, one proud with nobility.

Their names shall be known,

Their Houses shall be great,

Though kings be over-thrown,

Still their monument stands.

Touch every youth, magic in their souls,

Knowing in their eyes, wands in their hands.

Four Founders there are, and there shall be.

Hidden, they mark this land for eternity."

When she finished, only Godric's quick movement caught her from her collapsing onto the floor.

"I certainly don't like that line about kings. That's the sort of thing which gets a body in trouble." Slytherin said, grimacing.

********

"Amazing. Hogwarts was built because of a Prophecy?" Hermione blinked as the world came back into focus.

The Headmaster blinked, looking up from his paperwork. "Indeed. The text is about somewhere…." He glanced at the shelves in the room, over-flowing with books, some leaning haphazardly, others stacked atop each other, until the wood fairly groaned from the weight. Then he sighed. "It is nearing lunch, Miss Granger. Your friends will be most worried for you if you fail to attend.'

_Come back next week, young Gryffindor. I have two more Founders to tell you of._ The Hat said, before she lifted it, and set it gently on the Headmaster's desk.

"Thank you, sir." She swallowed. "Thank you, Sorting Hat."

"My pleasure, Miss Granger. Shall you return?"

"I still have to learn about Ravenclaw and Slytherin." She nodded, clutching her notebook to her chest. So much information!

He escorted her to the door. "I shall be quite busy next Saturday morning, but you are welcome to come after lunch."

She left, mind still whirling.

__

Author's Notes!:

All right, my wonderful reviewers, I *was* working on a Slytherin chapter, but it wasn't flowing properly, so I bumped Helga up a notch, and set the Slytherin aside for the nonce.

I never knew I'd get so much use out of my Norton's Anthology for culture references… wow.

****

Gkey- thanks for the review. It was the final spur that jabbed me to switch tracks, get rid of the writer's block, and post something. So all the others should thank you. I must admit, I did start this because I felt too much attention was paid to Gryffindor and Slytherin. After all, it is the *Four* Founders, and all four should get equal notice. Except it is being viewed through a Gryffindor's eyes, so there might be a slight bias….. I hope you enjoy this installment.

****

Sundance- Oh my gosh! You have this listed as a favorite story in your bio! I'm going to die of shock now! I'm slipping religion in because in the 1rst millenium, people were pretty religious. England and Ireland were already converted at the point. Rest assured, Helga and Godric are the most religious of the pair. I think. Rowena hasn't told me much yet. How can it be for Wiccans? I've heard that before, but I always dismiss it. After all, England doesn't have the Separation of Church and State we have here. The wizarding world also seems to be fairly medieval in attitude (excepting rights for the women, I've noted), and that was a very religious time. A very *Christian* era, in fact. BTW - your compliment on my spelling is much appreciated. I glowed with pride. This story isn't beta read, so having a comment like that, well, my skills as an author are suitably buttered.

****

Raistin of Metallica - I hope you did know I was talking about the Dragon Lance character. I worried ever so much after I'd posted that if you'd taken it as an insult. I'm sorry… I hope you see here that Helga isn't noble. Which is why Rowena had to teach her. Let's go Rowena! Yoo-hoo! Aside from that, thank you for the constructive criticism. Much appreciated, it's the sort I refer back to when I'm typing up the next chapter.

****

Minerva of Tortall - If it weren't for the fact that I have reviewers, I'd say stuff it, because finding decent sources that agree is annoying. I really desperately want 24-7 access to my old college library, but since I'm failing that, I have to dig out my old history texts, and my old English Literature texts, and piece it together. As well as search the web for information I can trust. Because of you and your fellow reviewers, however, I will finish this (and post a bibliography) as soon as I can. (Psst- I love your stories.)

****

To everyone:

Well, I replied to the names that I have. That done, I can give you general info.

There will be one chapter per Founder, and a bibliography at the end.

My main story is a Highlander one, so this is sort of something I type up when I'm brain fried on that. Which, I admit, is a lot of the time, but I have to recover enough to type anything in the first place.

Yes, you'll find out where the Founders got the name of Hogwarts. Or my idea of where they got it.

See, I'm trying to create the seeds of the Gryffindor/ Slytherin dispute, which ended in Slytherin getting booted out and leaving a basilisk at the school. I'm also being deliberately vague and not tell the Founders that it's a school they'll be building. After all, prophecies aren't supposed to be self evident.


	4. Founder Three: Ravenclaw

Disclaimer: Hey, do you think I could possibly come up with a profitable idea? Wrong. I'm just borrowing Rowling's work, I promise to return it unscathed.

****

Chapter Four: Ravenclaw

"Good morning, Headmaster!" Hermione sang brightly, mind already spinning full of the 'what-ifs' she could ask the hat.

"Miss Granger." A smile crooked the old man's lips. "How fares life in Gryffindor Tower this weekend?"

"Ah…" She bit her lip. "We're worried. Everyone is worried. Ron and Harry have taken to fighting one minute, and being fine the next."

"The pressures of adolescence strain many relationships, Miss Granger, and in trying times, the strain is so much worse."

"They're acting like children!"

"Perhaps because they can?" He stood, and set the Sorting Hat on the small table next to her. "Sherbert Lemon?"

"No thank you, sir." Hermione smiled, as she lifted the battered Hat once more.

_Back again, are you? Miss Granger, with how often I see you, you might as well hang a portrait on the walls of the Headmaster's office right now._ The Hat murmured into her mind.

"What story today?" Hermione asked, smiling up at the brim.

_How about we talk about Ravenclaw. You would have done well in Ravenclaw, but I stick by my decision that such courage and strength of spirit as you have is the right domain of Gryffindor._

"I'm not arguing with that." Hermione smiled fondly, memories of her years and the happiness within them floating by. Like little gems, hidden among the sorrows of the Second Rise of Voldemort.

_Rowena wouldn't want us wasting time, now. Let's get to it._

*************

"Lady Rowena, there's a letter for you."

"Thank you, Ian. Is my husband back?"

"No, milady, he should return within the hour."

"Very well." Rowena nodded. "I will be in our chambers."

"Of course milady."

The stone building wasn't big, and it wasn't very warm. She soon settled next to the fire, shifting a little on the hard wooden bench, and opened the letter.

__

Lady Rowena, my dearest friend.

_Godric is doing well. I don't think I ever realized what a gifted teacher my husband was. His students, young witches and wizards all, are extremely devoted to him. He has even convinced his surly friend, Slytherin, to assist us. His grandfather does not know quite what to do with him. He is acting as a true gentleman, of course, seeing to the well-being of his people by ensuring they are educated, but as Lord Gryffindor often complains, my husband has too much enjoyment of the doing so!_

Rowena was reading, and enjoying, the letter, when a pair of broad hands settled on her shoulders.

"Annsachd." Her husband's warm rumble made her glance up and smile. "What does your friend say now?"

"She's talking about her charge."

"The crippled wench?" Her husbands sounded faintly disapproving.

"Husband, mine, she is a powerful Seer." Rowena spoke up.

"She is Muggle born, is she not?" He settled next to her on the bench, and looked at the missive written on rag paper. "The Muggles… ah, my love, sometimes they appreciate us, but other times they show such fear! One would think they had forgotten all the good we have done them!"

"One would think we have forgotten what our own Dark members have done." Rowena snorted. "That reminds me. I must send Goodwife Hufflepuff the stone I crafted."

"The one that will record voices, and can be made clean to record anew?" Her husband smiled. "My clever wife, to invent a charm that no one has ever imagined before."

"My handsome husband, to lead his clan of wizards into battle with the other clans."

"Ach, Rowena, God surely smiled on me when He made my parents choose you for my bride. No other man can claim to have won the hand of Rowena the Ravenclaw, a witch whose clever mind and sharp wits have snagged victory from the claws of defeat many a time."

"You have been listening to the story-tellers over much, my husband. You make me more than I am."

"You say wrongly. You will be a legend, and I will be remembered as the lucky man who had you as his wife."

She smiled in response. "I would not have taken you if you had not been so wise and uncanny to surround my home with your loyal men."

*************

"Oh, this is amazing! Rowena Ravenclaw was married?"

_Indeed. Married. She even had children. And god-children._

*************

"Lady Ravenclaw, what a pleasure to finally meet you." The rather matronly Viking woman who met them left no doubt as to her identity. Her shawl of golden yellow stood out brightly against the black fur of the badger kit cuddled in her arms.

"And you, Goodwife Hufflepuff, though you will annoy my husband and sons if you insist on referring to me by the name the bards made up for me."

"Piffle." The matronly woman smiled. "They are proud to have a lady of their clan being one who would rival Merlin himself!"

Rowena flushed, as the men folk laughed. "We are here for the betrothal of my youngest son to Lord Gryffindor's daughter, are we not?"

The eight year old boy scowled, as his father tugged his braid. "Mathair, must I be here?!"

"It's you who is getting engaged, Ian. Mathair has already found brides for us. You are stuck with her old friend." One of his older brothers teased gently.

"Lady Caerdwyn is hardly old, Alastair, and you would do well to remember it. She has the temper of her Irish raising." Her husband said softly, as the Lord and Lady Gryffindor rose to greet them in the study.

"Lord and Lady Duncan." Lord Gryffindor smiled. "Welcome to my home."

They nodded.

"Mayhaps your sons would appreciate hunting?" He gestured at his own son, who appeared to be arguing with a dark gentleman. "My son would be glad to introduce them to the moors."

Some hours later, they were at the actual ceremony, and the alarming presentation by Gryffindor's Seer.

"I don't like that line about Kings." Slytherin, Lord Gryffindor's sharp tongued friend, looked disturbed. "That's the sort of thing which gets a body in trouble."

"Indeed." Rowena nodded. "There are too many kings to want to anger any of them."

"What sort of monument could last for ages, though?" Hufflepuff frowned.

"It touches magical youths." Slytherin grumbled. "Has to be something children would like. Perhaps a statue? There are ones in Egypt that have lasted quite some time."

"Salazar, we do not need to hear about your travels right now." Gryffindor growled. Obviously still annoyed at his friend, as he helped his Seer stand.

Rowena, on the other hand, was thinking, and thinking hard. "Lord Gryffindor, you already have a remarkable reputation for being a educator of young witches and wizards."

"I do. What would that have to do with a monument?"

"A school. All of us have students, in fact, all of us have excellent reputations as teachers. Even your friend, Slytherin." She regarded him warily. "Perhaps we should start a school, and make it a lasting memorial. It would affect magical youths, and would not be the threat to kingship Slytherin fears."

Hufflepuff squealed. "Oh, it's a delightful idea! I love it! But where should we put it?"

"Not here." Gryffindor spoke sadly. "The Muggle and wizarding world will surely expand. Though it is beautiful, surely the moors will fall."

Hufflepuff shook her head. "My husband's country is lovely, Eire would be nice, but you three are of this island."

"As the Romans said it, Alba." Slytherin commented. "Ravenclaw, your highlands. It would be perfect."

"You can call it Hogwarts." Gryffindor's wife approached, and smiled at her lady friend, and her husband.

"Hogwarts?" Rowena frowned.

"It's Cassandra's favorite type of lily." Gryffindor chuckled. "She had a cat for a brief while, until it regretfully was run over by a cart. She named it Hogwarts."

"She can't even see, how can she have a favorite lily?" Salazar grumbled.

"I described it to her, Salazar, now excuse me." Lady Gryffindor sniffed, and escorted the young Seer away.

"I think building it in the highlands is perfect. There is so much land the Muggles never near." Rowena smiled.

*************

Hermione smiled. "Hogwarts is named after a flower?"

_There were numerous fights over what to name it. We could…_ The Sorting Hat paused. _Alas, Albus draws near. Ms. Granger, Slytherin's story awaits you when you return once more._

"Thank you, Hat, and Professor. This information…." Her eyes twinkled brightly.

"You will have an excellent paper on the topic you chose." The Headmaster's own eyes twinkled. "

__

Author's Note!

Phew. I survived typing this. Now I get to thank you wonderful people for not only reading but reviewing. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Much more fun to have a review I can grin it, than a note of approval in Messenger. Yes, you. You know who you are. J 

**Gkey**. Once again, I have to thank you for the review. Wow, repeated reading! I'm shocked! Thank you so much for taking the time to let me know you liked it. It's a real mood booster. I was walking around at work with a doofy grin after checking my mail and finding a review. My co-workers kept wondering if I was on something. J 

**Minerva of Tortall.** I hope the note previously up answered the question. Thanks for the compliment. It's really neat to know that people whose work you like and admire are reading your stuff. Trade you this update for an update of yours? ;) (Darn, word doesn't do the smiley face with a wink. Nertz!)

**Emmylou.**Oh no! You've found me out! Yes, Nanna Ogg is a Terry Pratchett reference. I hope I did not disappoint, though of course I fear I did. Next on the plan is Salazar. Wish me luck, the background I want for him is proving horrendous to find proper trustable sources for.

**Iris Lefay Longbottom.** Wow. You put me in your favorites. Surely I'm not that good? I would have loved to do better on Ravenclaw, but there's a lot of stuff I couldn't include, if I wanted to keep it G. I'd like to have at least one story that the general populace can read, hey? But I tried to make her a Celt, because her name's of Celtic origin. I also think that she was a woman of power and legend. I mean, not just anyone would be invited to found a school. I'm not sure I successfully conveyed it, because first and foremost, I am a Gryffindor. I also didn't want her to be emotionally distant, and a view of an ice queen, because a true woman doesn't have to be an ice queen to be powerful.

In general, although it's annoying to write, It's always a delight, to find your reviews, it's such happy news… and I'll stop now. The reviews perk me up, make my day brighter, and guiltily remind me that I needs must update. This is the next to last actual story chapter. Salazar's last, and then I get to make a sources page. Lovely. And links aren't allowed in the stories… grumble I'll find a way, I know I will!


End file.
